


How to Remake Beauty and Love

by ParadifeLoft



Series: Giftmas 2013 [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Begetting Day fluffiness, Gen, Nargothrond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:05:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadifeLoft/pseuds/ParadifeLoft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finduilas enlists Túrin to help make Gwindor's first begetting day back in Nargothrond one to ensure he feels he is still loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Remake Beauty and Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adenydd](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=adenydd).



> Happy Giftmas, Margot! I hope this meets all your standards for pleasant Narn fluff :) Much as I obviously love Finduilas and Gwindor, Túrin too was such an enjoyable, thoughtful character to write - thank you for the opportunity! Have a lovely holiday!

The Man was alone, working at drills with his new-forged sword, when Finduilas passed beneath the carven stone archway into the practise alcove. Sun filtered in, glimmering silver and white from the guard, from his vambraces, when his body angled so precisely toward the clouds - these rooms were high in the cave system, enough that this space opened onto sky alone, with no arches of artfully hewn stone above pretending to be the sun or stars.

Finduilas had walked softly; and even now, as she watched, he did not appear to notice her presence. "Agarwaen? May I ask your help with a favour?"

He halted; sheathed his sword with elf-like grace, and turned to query her with honest grey eyes. He bowed. "My lady? If it is in my power, certainly. Your family has been more than gracious."

A smile spread to the corners of her lips.

"It is no sacrifice. But Lord Gwindor, his begetting day shall be coming soon, you see, and I worry that I have not heard any mention of it from the friends he had once before his departure from the city. And yet I see the pair of you often in conversation; I thought you might wish to help me create some token of our love for him."

Agarwaen's brows raised, his lips parted slightly in surprise - but a pleased surprise, if she was any judge. His face seemed as one unused to joy, though she could not, seeing as much, mistake it for one unsuited to it.

"Of course, my lady," he answered. "I would be honoured."

 

\----

 

In the next weeks, Finduilas made sure to enlist in the scheme: her family's cooks; her ladies-in-waiting; and - though it was trickier - several of Gwindor's servants; and most importantly, his physician. Their servants went to the market; and Agarwaen, she sent out to hunt for game.

"Can all men hunt, in Nargothrond?" he had asked, when she set him the task - alarmed, for a moment, she grew wide-eyed, and explained that no, she had simply forgotten, and assumed he would be able to just as the other courtiers could. Better, for now it seemed, to remedy her mistake by way of innocence, as she could not tell how pleased he might be to hear her father's speculations of his identity as member of the outlaw band they had aided.

But aside from that… how many feasts had Finduilas planned? How many council dinners? There was nobody, she would believe easily, better than her to plan such an event to the exact specifications required, in all of Nargothrond - and Gwindor deserved nothing better.

A celebration to honour his coming into the world; and one to honour his coming back to it.

 

\----

 

On Gwindor's begetting day, Finduilas was interrupted from her letters right when she had hoped she would be, with her betrothed's physician stepping inside her room with a bow.

"It is done, princess; my lord has gone to find his groom and take a short ride about the king's wood. Though I must say he looked less that pleased at my mandating the excursion." The man smiled, amused, surely, at Gwindor's penchant for stubbornness that she could only imagine had not abated in the physician's bed now any more than when he had first returned to the city. Finduilas smiled back.

Setting the letters neatly aside, one pile completed and the other still to be read through and answered,  she made her way to Gwindor's private chambers, where she found several of the servants working already to arrange his tables and chairs, piled high with ornate cushions and gilded etchings in the wood, in a fashion befitting a private banquet before the fire. Agarwaen hovered near the doorway, watching the proceedings, a wrapped bundle in his hands.

It was gratifying enough, watching his eyes glow brighter and his somber expression lighten as they merely brought in the food - pheasant and lamb, honeyed glazes and berry preserves, leeks and sprouts and bread with broth. To imagine Gwindor, transforming in the same way in but a small moment… she could not deny a fluttering excitement that rather recalled the days of their earlier courtship. Midhril, one of Finduilas's serving girls with more than passing skill  at the harp, flashed Finduilas a coy, amused smile beneath her lashes as she arranged her instrument in an unobtrusive corner of the room.

When she heard Gwindor's footsteps in the hallway, Finduilas straightened - gave an almost childish bounce, barely noticeable unless one had been looking - and pulled Agarwaen away from the door. "Yes," she heard not far down the hallway, "I should like to take my bath and then retire for the evening."

A few moments more - and Gwindor appeared in the doorway, where he stopped in his paces, shock spreading onto his scarred face as he surveyed the room that had changed over the time of but an hour.

Finduilas stepped forward, out from the shadow cast from the door, and took Gwindor's hand. It was cold, strangely-textured to the touch as it had been since he had returned - but his eyes, his eyes slowly slid to another expression, growing round and almost glassy.

"Happy begetting day, _meldenya_ ," she whispered.

Gwindor was speechless as Finduilas and Agarwaen led him to the table, seated him between them with the entire three-person banquet spread before them. "You managed to arrange all of this, and I hadn't a clue," he wondered, after regaining himself somewhat. He looked back and forth between the two of them. "I cannot… I cannot thank you enough." His gaze on the banquet and on the pair of them both looked as a man starving, come suddenly across a sumptuous feast.

"Nor can I you," Agarwaen replied. He brought the wrapped bundle from beside him, and handed it to Gwindor. "A token of my appreciation and love, if you would have it."

"You did not need -" Gwindor began, as he unfolded the paper - and then stopped speaking, as he withdrew a shining gold-and-chestnut robe from within. It was beautiful, an intricate work of art with a northern-influenced embroidery pattern - and then Finduilas saw the clasps.

Gwindor must have noticed at the same moment too - clasps a different shape from those usual intricate fasteners so difficult to use with only a single hand - for he gave a small intake of breath, and then - "Agarwaen, where did you discover…"

The black-clad man smiled, a slight and endearing thing. "There are more injuries, I fear, requiring such innovations made among Men than Eldar," he replied. A disturbing answer, if Finduilas were to think on it long - though a boon for her betrothed, and it was that notion which spilled over into the whole of her heart quickly enough.

He shook his head. "Words fail me," he admitted, bowing his head. Finduilas put her hand against his arm, and Agarwaen matched the gesture.

"Words, perhaps, but food less so. Let us enjoy the banquet Lady Finduilas has ordered us, before the heat begins to cool."

Gwindor looked again between them, a broad, overcome smile stretched on his face, his face which looked almost like some reborn vision of his younger self.

"My friends. My dearest friends."


End file.
